


Chapter 17 : Coma Jarvia

by Myril_Chan



Series: DAO [9]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Drama & Romance, F/M, Orzammar (Dragon Age)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-05
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-18 10:54:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 5,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29857005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Myril_Chan/pseuds/Myril_Chan
Summary: A ladle of party dialogs, a bag of fighting, two drops of blood magic, one Oghren, an inch of drrraaaammma, three onces of romantically romantic romance, a coma, Jarvia.Icing on the cake I even managed to fit in a “swooping is bad”, and that’s always nice ;-)“Oh, but I’m not done having fun!” Replied a voice behind her back.Ymlaïs turned around just to see the thief swoop down on Alistair and shove a dagger into his neck, just between the armor and the helmet. He had a look of stupor. When Jarvia removed her weapon and disappeared again, a flood of blood escaped from the throat of the warrior who carried his hands to his neck in a derisory gesture, before falling to the ground in a crash of armor. »
Relationships: Alistair/Female Mahariel (Dragon Age), Alistair/Female Warden (Dragon Age)
Series: DAO [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1964107





	1. Chapter 1

« Maker, don’t these tunnels have an end? If Jarvia is not behind the next door, I give up!" said Alistair upset.  
Fallon and Halani growled together.  
« Oh ! Enough of you two! »  
« They aren’t growling at you but at what is in front of us », said Ymlaïs. Turning to the rest of the group : « We should take a break. I doubt that Fallon and Halani would grumble like this without reason. And if Jarvia is really close, we will have to get ready ».   
Everyone agreed and began to take stock of their equipment. 

“It looks bad,” said Wynne. “We have very few healing potions and poultices left ».  
« Alistair is the one who emptied the supplies!” accused Leliana with a wink.  
« Hey! Maybe it’s because I’m the one taking most of the hits for you! » the young warrior took offense.   
« And who falls into most of the traps. » Sten added with his usual stoicism.   
« You are the voice of wisdom my qunari friend » Morrigan added with a smirk.   
For any answer, Alistair gave his most annoyed glance at the witch.  
« They’re not completely wrong » admitted Ymlaïs more quietly before he could say anything. « You should let me do my job and not rush like you do. »   
« Like an eager puppy !” mocked Leliana.  
« Oh well, that was funny! I didn’t knew you were on her side now ! » Alistair answered to her by glancing at Morrigan.

Knowing exactly where it was going, Ymlaïs decided to quickly cut off the catfight and bring the conversation to a more pragmatic level. “Well, the problem remains. If we don’t have enough healing material, we’ll have to concentrate our efforts on the attack. Zevran, if you still have poison vials and a few bombs, we’re gonna need them. What about our lyrium refills? Wynne will have to take care of everybody on her own, but she’s not going to be able to do it without resources. »  
« She wouldn’t have to if a certain witch put her pride aside to learn healing spells,” Alistair stroke back.   
« I don’t have your appetite for old leashed mages’ lessons, Alistair. And I wouldn’t have to stoop to such extremes if a warrior fool didn’t rush headlong into all the traps that are set in his way. »   
« Well, living without a leash did not make you more altruistic, that’s for sure! There are areas where the dog could teach you. »  
« Speak for yourself! At least the dog is watching where he is putting his paws! »  
« Oh just drop it, the two of you! ». said Leliana by rolling her eyes.   
« Technically, my dear, you were the one who started the argument » replied Zevran, handing her a vial of deathroot extract.  
« But... I didn’t say anything! Did I say something? » 

With a sigh, Ymlaïs turned to Sten and Wynne: an island of wisdom in those moments when the rest of the team looked like a band of carefree kids.  
« Why make such a fuss about one person who has already lost her entire clan. I say we go in and cut off her head » the qunari said.  
« I doubt it’s that simple, Sten. Otherwise, the nobility would have gotten rid of her a long time ago. »   
« I wouldn’t call the journey we had to make to get here “simple” ». Alistair remarked.   
« I’m not so sure », said Zevran. « A well-used and skillfully contained subterranean threat can well serve the ruler’s interest: the Carta keeps the poor people under its control and prevents them from rebelling. Morevoer its leader can serve as a scapegoat to attract the attention of the common people or nobles when the need arose. »   
« Except that this time the scapegoat became a real threat ». Said Ymlaïs. « It also means that she had the means. We can’t go back to refueling. Jarvia must have already heard of our presence, we can’t give her time to reunite her troops. »   
« If she has any left », Zevran replied with a smile.  
« We’ll see… » 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s been a long time since I wanted to write a scene that included (almost) all the team members. Writing a dialogue scene with so many characters was an interesting challenge: as much for the rhythm of the writing as to be faithful to the personality of each character. To do this, I imagine the dialogues in my head with the original voices of the game and I see if it seems right or not.
> 
> This lack of healing material is directly inspired by my experience as a player. During one of my game on nightmare difficulty, I had the bad idea to order Alistair to cure himself as soon as he was under 50% health, just to make my life easier. I realized when I arrived in front of Jarvia’s lair that it had the consequence of reducing my reserves of healing poultices almost to nothing! Then I realized how hard it is to refuel stocks of healings in the game when you start from scratch!! Going back from there to Brecilian to buy elfroots was more than my laziness could stand so I chose to fight with what I had...
> 
> Anyway, it seems I’m not the only one for whom Alistair was THE character who rushed head-down into every bloody traps on his way (was he programmed for it ?)  
> https://www.pinterest.fr/pin/509962357814237317/  
> https://www.pinterest.fr/pin/509962357813808110/


	2. Chapter 2

She had some left. And not the least.  
The fight was fierce and the outcome uncertain. Studying the situation, Ymlaïs glanced at Leliana and Morrigan, entrenched behind a glyph of repulsion that was keeping the assassins at bay. But the problem of the crossbowmen remained. Leliana was trying to shoot them from distance, but she could not count on the support of the men and animals fighting in melee with Jarvia’s bodyguards.  
The latter gave Zevran a hard time and challenged all his assassin skills. The elf cursed each time she suddenly disappeared and reappeared behind his back. The sharp senses of the crow allowed him not to take a fatal blow but the efficient cuts were accumulating and Jarvia gradually took the advantage over his opponent. For someone with such small legs, she was a prodigiously fast !

Ymlaïs, for her part, had quietly begun to disarm the many traps that littered the room, and Wynne kept an eye on the battlefield, delivering her healing and protective spells where they were most needed.  
How resistant were these dwarves! Not only did their magical resistance make Morrigan’s offensive spells much less effective – which was already a big disadvantage – but they were damn robust and enduring and surprisingly well equipped for commoners!  
Even Sten, who could decapitate a darkspawn in a single sword stroke, struggled to defeat his opponent. It was necessary to tip the scales, and quickly. Forsaking her bow, Ymlaïs took out her dagger and went toward the nearest crossbowman. Sneaking behind him, she slit his throat with a sharp blow, while Leliana and Morrigan were already shifting their forces on the other shooter.

_One less_.  
  
Ymlaïs set out to free a few warriors by finishing another assassin. Narrowly dodging a treacherous blow, Alistair retaliated with a powerful shield dash to the dwarf. The hit that would have tipped a man only succeeds in pulling back the dwarf, well encased on his short legs. Ymlaïs picked him up with her axe to the back of the knees. His armor cushioned the blow but the dwarf fell backwards and Falon took the opportunity to rush on him and plant his fangs in his throat. The scream of the assassin died in a sinister gargoyle.

_Two less_. 

A new glance on the battlefield: Sten’s massive sword blow smashed his skull’s opponent and an arrow of Leliana finished the last shooter. 

_Your turn now, Jarvia!_

“We’re taking over,” Ymlaïs said, signaling a very badly hurt Zevran to step back. Far from giving up, Jarvia redoubled her savagery as she felt cornered. Just as Ymlaïs thought she would seize her, she disappeared as if by magic.  
“You lost Jarvia, your Carta is destroyed, and you are alone against all of us, so stop playing games!”   
“Oh, but I’m not done having fun!” Replied a voice behind her back.  
Ymlaïs turned around just to see the thief swoop down on Alistair(1) and shove a dagger into his neck, just between the armor and the helmet. He had a look of stupor. When Jarvia removed her weapon and disappeared again, a flood of blood escaped from the throat of the warrior who carried his hands to his neck in a derisory gesture, before falling to the ground in a crash of armor.

"WYNNE!" Ymlaïs' panic cry immediately caught the healer’s attention. At the sight of the warrior bathed in his blood, she exchange a meaningful look with Zevran and directed her attention towards the Grey Warden. But her energy was lacking and the cure spell she cast would not be enough to overcome such a wound.  
Bewildered, Ymlaïs lost a few precious seconds before recovering. A few seconds that Jarvia used to slip in her back and attempted to strike deadly. But as she lifted her battle axes, an arrow pierced her wrist, stopping the attack. Sten rushed at her and with a pommel strike threw her to the ground. Looking sideways, she saw a grey wolf and a huge war dog about to attack her. Jarvia preferred to escape and threw a smoke bomb that stopped his opponents and allowed her to escape in a final challenge.

“You’re not done with me yet!”   
At this moment, a new wave of murderers, seeming to come out of nowhere, appeared at the four corners of the room.  
Where the hell did they come from? There’s no way they were letting Jarvia go. If Ymlaïs had embarked on this constrained and forced quest, she now had a very personal motivation to be willing to eliminate the leader of the Carta. In memory of Alistair collapsing in a pool of blood, a relentless rage invaded her.  
“Deal with them! Protect Wynne! That bitch is _mine_!”

Wynne placed a new glyph of repulsion on the ground around her and Alistair. Sten rushed to the nearest assassin and Ymlaïs ordered Falon and Halani to follow him. This time, there was no question of dispersing their strength. They had to concentrate their efforts to get rid of Jarvia’s henchmen as quickly as possible. With a few signs, she made Leliana understand that she had to slow down the other opponents.  
The bard nodded and proceeded to cripple her victims by effectively targeting the limbs rather than attempting uncertain lethal shots. To her great surprise, when she touched an opponent’s thigh, a biting cold numbed his leg, accentuating the discomfort caused by the arrow.   
“Thank you Morrigan” said Zevran, throwing an fire bomb at another assailant before launching himself into battle with enthusiasm; delighted to abandon the Duelist position to find a role that suited him much better: finish the work of others from the shadows and see the surprise on the faces of those he would pass through his blades which, as all the weapons of the team were now generating cold waves.  
"You’re welcome," said Morrigan, with a smirk, while extra limbs were growing on her and she shriveled to the ground. Abandoning the idea of casting useless spells, in the form of a spider, she began to sprinkle the murderers with webs that instantly immobilized them and spread sprays of acid around her.   
_That’s the way I love you_ , Ymlaïs thought before turning her attention to her target.

Hidden behind a pillar, Jarvia was looking for her main target in the chaos of the battle. Where had this fucking elf gone? If she wanted a duel, she was going to have it. She felt the displacement of air in her back too late.  
“You looking for me, O Queen of the Underworld?”  
Mobilizing all her reflexes, Jarvia turned to strike in the direction of the voice but her axes met the void. She felt a presence on her left and a dazzling pain when a dagger crashed into her armpit, right in the weak spot of her armor. A supernatural cold from the weapon invades the top of her body numbing her movements. The elf kicked her out, which sent her to hit the pillar, taking her breath away.  
Quickly regaining her senses and ignoring the pain, the dwarf rolled forward and rose up throwing her two axes in a clumsy sweep of her opponent’s legs. With a backflip, Ymlaïs avoided the blow and resumed support as soon as she landed on the ground. She rushed forward to plant her knee in the dwarf’s face. The latter was thrown back again and felt some front teeth shatter. The mouth in blood, she recovered with a roll and was ready to charge back but the elf was already on her, axe in hand that she moved in rapid bursts. Jarvia could only retreat by crossing her axes to protect herself.  
Bringing her blades up, she pulled her weapons away at the right time to catch her enemy’s and disarmed her with a mocking laugh… Just before she saw from the corner of her eye the flash of a dagger’s blade heading to the base of her neck, exactly where she had wounded the warrior. An eye for an eye…. She had been fooled like a novice. Again, the cold invaded her from within, her forces abandoned her. The blow which she tried to give in a last effort made her drop her weapons and she fell down on her knees, trembling.  
Ymlais knelt to the level of the dying dwarf and looked into her eyes with hatred. Jarvia spit in her face.  
“I could have…. Changed everything…. Without you I would have…. Succeeded…. We would finally be free…and powerful….Be… cursed.” Her voice was full of rage and frustration mixed. The fearsome slayer suddenly seemed miserable to Ymlaïs. She felt her own anger subside. What was the point of being angry at someone who lost everything?  
“I also come from a proud and oppressed people. I am sorry for yours. But you chose the path of terror and violence. For the good of your people, with or without me, you could not win. Nevertheless, I salute your strength, your boldness and your cunning. Let your ancestors welcome you in peace." And with these words she cut her throat. 

_Jarvia, if you had grown up out of Dust Town, you could have counted among the Paragons of your people. Your intelligence, your strength and your skill have made you an exceptional being. Instead, at the moment of your last breath, the world has already forgotten you_.

(1) and Yes… Swooping is bad

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This part was also inspired by my experience as a player: The fight against Jarvia really gave me a hard time more than once because of the *$% stamina of the dwarves who, in my memory, take the hits a little too well and because of Jarvia’s *$% habit to sneaky attack and backstab everybody !
> 
> I really tried to stick to the gameplay of the game, except for the duel between my warden and Jarvia where I had fun. but I really wanted to show her « badass warrior » side. ^^
> 
> The idea of a moment when Alistair would fall into a coma was directly inspired by Aimo’s comic «Wounded» that I really like : https://www.deviantart.com/aimo/art/DA-Wounded-Page-2-145787743, which was created for a contest. I liked the idea of having a character close to death even if the game miraculously allows us to always stand up unscathed after each fight.
> 
> The fact that Alistair is the one to succumbs is purely fictitious to me because in my game experience, I can’t count the number of fights where he was the only man standing, saving the whole team’s asses, sometimes even when the victory seemed compromised (Alistair, my personal hero ^^).  
> However, it fits with roleplay since, in order to integrate Oghren into my team in the deeproads, I had to leave Alistair at the camp for the one and only time.


	3. Chapter 3

“This is a joke! It has to be ! ” cried Leliana.   
“Believe me, I told myself the same thing, but it’s the truth. We have to go to the Deeproads.”  
“Our mission is to end the Blight and kill the Archdemon. How do you intend to carry it out by wandering in the Deeproads in search of a woman that no one has yet been able to find?”  
“Look, Sten, even though I hold my people in high esteem, the help of the only dalish will not be enough to counter the horde of darkspawns. I’ve been able to test the value of dwarves in combat, and I’d rather have them with us in this war. And no people are more accustomed to fight the darkspawns than they are.   
“The Legion of the Dead fights the darkspawns. The nobility of Orzammar has for too long been cloistered within the walls of its precious city and seems to give more importance to its internal quarrels than to counter a threat that weighs on the rest of the world”. Said Morrigan with skepticism.  
“I agree.” Repeated Sten. “Why should we waste time asking for help from a people who cannot even solve their problems themselves? We’ve already done too much for this Harrowmont. Do you really intend to do whatever he asks you?”   
“Of coooouuuuurse she will!” Replied the witch, raising her arms and eyes to heaven. “Just like every time fools try to use her to solve their little problems. We had the undeads, the werewolves, the demons… Why not the Deeproads? And to look for someone as easy to find as the miraculous ashes of a lunatic stored somewhere in the Frostback mountains!” 

Ymlais breathed a sigh. She could not disagree with them. She, herself, had gone crazy when Harrowmont had explained to her that to have annihilated the Carta would not be enough to win the nobles to his cause. She had threatened to pass him, Bhelen, and the whole assembly by the thread of his blade and to lay the Orzammar’ crown on the head of the first nug to come along if it could solve their little problems of succession. Despite his appearance as a man of integrity and disinterestedness, she wondered if Harrowmont was taking the opportunity to have her solve all the outstanding problems among the dwarves. But she had no choice but to rally these people to her cause than to pursue this damn quest.   
And clearly no mood to procrastinate on how to proceed for hours. 

“We are leaving tomorrow, I advise you to rest and prepare. Morrigan, we will need sufficient number of poultices, Sten and Leliana, I charge you to prepare the provisions for several days. Who knows how long we’ll be stuck out there, and I doubt the Deeproads is full of good food. Zevran, please make sure your stock of deadly gadgets is full as well or take the necessary equipment to make them on the way. With any luck, if the Archdemon is still in the Underworld we would be able to kill two birds with one stone.  
“Why not. It’s said that luck favours the simple-minded and the insane.” Morrigan said, returning to her hut. 

This expedition promised to be a real pleasure…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A scene still inspired by my gamer experience. When Harrowmont (yes, I still vote for him even though in the end Bhelen is a more effective king) sent me into the deeproads, I would have liked to throw the throne in his mouth, or go straight to butcher Bhelen and shove the crown on his head to solve the problem faster…  
> Seriously…


	4. Chapter 4

\---

When she entered Alistair’s tent, Ymlaïs understood in Wynne’s eyes that the news were not good. 

The mage sighed : “I did what I could. The wound has been healed for a long time but he lost too much blood and that, my magic can do nothing about it. His fate is now in the hands of the Maker”.  
“If there’s nothing more you can do, I’ll ask you to join us for tomorrow’s expedition. Your skills will be greatly needed.”   
“An expedition? Where are we going?”  
“In the Deeproads. In search of the Parangon Branka, in the ultimate hope of finding a definitive solution to the dramatic problem of the dwarves’ crowned head.”  
After a silence, Wynne replied:   
“And you would leave Alistair to his fate?”   
“You said there was nothing more you could do.”  
“If left alone here, he will most certainly die.”   
“I will leave Falon and Leliana with him. I would ask Morrigan to take care of it but I am afraid she will take advantage of it to finish him...”   
“Can’t we wait a few days for him to recover?”   
“Do you think the Archdemon will nicely wait for us during this time? Wasn’t it you who alerted me one day to the need to put my mission before my personal desires? Well here I am: a loyal Grey Warden, fulfilling her duty. Are you not satisfied?"

The two women measured themselves for a moment. In spite of her harsh words and her bronze gaze, it was obvious that Ymlaïs was prey to an internal conflict that was eating her up. No doubt she was well aware of the decision she was making. And she was suffering from it.  
“We are already wasting valuable time. And even if Alistair recovered, he would not be able to participate to such an expedition for several days. We leave tomorrow, and I ask you to join us. If his fate is in the hands of your Maker, then I pledge Leliana’s prayers will be our best asset." She added a weary tone. “I advise you to prepare and rest.”   
Wynne nodded in silence, looking sad and full of empathy, without taking her eyes off the elf. Then she came out of the tent.   
Once alone, Ymlaïs remained indecisive for a long time. Her head told her that she should also go out, without looking back, that she had made her decision. But her whole being felt the presence of the young man lying close to her and the idea of leaving him tore her inwardly.

_Don’t look at him, get out of that tent, do your duty, don’t look at him._

She looked. 

She looked at the young man’s bloodless face, his inert body, his breathing so thin that it seemed as if he was already dead. She gently stroked his cheek – _please wake up_ – passed her hand on his forehead, in his hair – _come on, open your eyes_ – lay beside him – _you can’t do this to me. you just can’t_ – and finally burst into tears – _don’t leave me alone_ – buried her head in the hollow of his neck – _I can’t do it without you_ – took his hand in hers – _I need you._  
Only silence answered her.

She had already lost everything. In the darkness of her life, he had become her light, her sun, her friend, her shelter. And she loved him, this naive, clumsy and joker shemlen. Oh yes, she loved him. Through her tears, her whole being revolted. No. Not him. The Blight had already taken everything from her. It would not take him from. Nothing and no one would take him from her. But what to do? 

_… Lost too much blood…. My magic can do nothing…. Blood…. Magic…Blood…Magic…._

Morrigan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like to show the weaknesses of my warden. Moments of failures, doubt. I think it makes a character deeper and ultimately more courageous not to be the one who endures everything without flinching but the one who falls and gets up every time, the one who suffers and who moves forward against all odds.   
> And I believe that this is what touched me deeply in her character : this permanent sacrifice, this impossibility to access happiness for which she will fight to the end anyway.


	5. Chapter 5

“You’re a blood mage, right?”  
Morrigan raised a piercing look on the elf that Ymlaïs calmly supported.   
“If you mean that I would be like those leashed mages who rebel by playing with dangerous power that they do not master, no, I am not a Blood mage.”

She watched for the reaction of her interlocutor, seeking to know her intentions. Ymlaïs had always been tolerant and open to the witch’s magical practices, without any judgment. But the evocation of the blood magic was always a shaky ground. She added cautiously:   
“But I do know some ancient magic that comes out of the norms imposed by the Chantry and that could be called blood magic. But it’s just one name among many…  
“Alistair. Can you cure him with this magic?”   
So that’s what it’s all about?   
“I am no healer, this request should be directed to Wynne.”   
“Wynne can’t help him. She says he’s lost too much blood. She can’t do anything. But blood magic controls… blood.”   
“They cannot create it”.  
“But could you take someone’s blood and give it to him?”  
“Maybe, but what do you have in mind? Would you like us to sacrifice someone to save Alistair? Morevoer you are not unaware that the blood of a Grey Warden is not that of an ordinary man.”   
“I’m a Grey Warden. And I’m a volunteer. You wouldn’t have to bleed me out. Only take enough to save his life.”

Morrigan remained silent. She had already used blood magic during some fights but still discreetly enough for no one to notice. That elf was sometimes a little too smart. In truth, it was one of the reasons that made her one of the few people that Morrigan truly respected. Nevertheless, she did not like the idea of exposing this part of her knowledge in front of others.  
“Morrigan I don’t care what the Chantry thinks about this kind of practice. I’m not asking you to torture someone or summon a demon. I’m asking you to help me save a life.” Being well aware that it was not really the kind of argument that would convince Morrigan, especially when the life in question was that of a man she hated, she added: “I’m not asking you to do it for him. I ask you to do it for me. For all of us. Alistair is a Grey Warden too. The only one besides me who can stand between Ferelden and the Blight.” 

The magician pestered against herself. She had always looked with disdain at the fools who were tricked by the dalish’s pretty words. She had a knack for finding words that would rally others to her cause. And right now Morrigan was no exception. And it annoyed her. That said, despite all the contempt she felt for the young warrior, she did not lose sight of the fact that Alistair was a Grey Warden, and a key element for the future….  
"Alright.” She said in sigh. “Give me time to get ready and I’ll meet you in the tent. Let’s go save that fool.”  


\---

Ymlaïs awoke with a sharp headache. The day before, she had collapsed as a result of the ritual and had spent the night sleeping all dressed on the ground next to Alistair’s still inert body. She looked at her arm and was surprised to see that any trace of the incision made had disappeared. Idem on that of Alistair. Well, well... Morrigan did have some healing skills after all, as she did not see who else could cure their wounds so quickly.

She gazed at the young man. Did it work? Was he out of danger? Had anything changed? At least she did everything she could.   
She laid a kiss on his lips and murmured, "I love you too." It was the first time she had confessed it out loud (1). And he might never hear it. Nevermind. If those were the last words she had to say to him, so be it.

When she got out of the tent, the team was already on the go. The meal was quickly eaten, the atmosphere was gloomy, each finishing to prepare them luggage for a journey whose return was more than uncertain. Ymlaïs distributed the last instructions and informed Leliana of her decision to leave her at the camp in the company of the mabari, who was even more difficult to convince than the bard. After a last look at the tent, Ymlaïs closed her heart and turned resolutely toward the gates of the city of dwarves.   
“Everybody let’s go! To the Deeproads. Let’s perform a miracle for the future sovereign of Orzammar”.

  
(1) : see chapter 16 : The Nightmare - https://archiveofourown.org/works/29352009/chapters/72098307

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve been donating blood for years (the best way I found to be a hero and save lives in real life when you’re a nobody): I guess that inspired me… ;-)


	6. Chapter 6

Of course, it was the dog who felt them coming first. Even before the camp was in sight, Ymlaïs saw the mabari running towards her and welcoming her gladly. She took the time to flatter the animal: she too had missed him.   
Everyone was relieved to see them return safely to the camp. Leliana rushed to take Wynne’s luggage, which seemed exhausted, and Sandal welcomed them with a joyful "Enchantment!".   
It was finally over, but the team didn’t really seem to realize it. It was like waking up from a nightmare: first you need to take the time to realize that it is really over and that you won’t go back to it.

"Is everything all right?" asked Leliana.  
“Yes, I think so”. Ymlais replied without joy. “Orzammar has a new king, the dwarves will rally to our cause against the darkspawns. Oh! We had to plunge into the bowels of the earth for miles, fight darkspawns, corrupted spiders, corpses and -- she groaned with disgust -- deepstalkers. We have gone through sadistic multi-centenary traps, discovered how darkspawns are born – and it’s not pretty... goes beyond all the horrors I had imagined. We also crossed paths with the Archdemon and his army, killed a Paragon, destroyed a superpowerful artifact dating from the first Blight, killed half of the Orzammar nobles' assembly. But yes : it’s done. Everything all right”.  
“Let no one ever pronounce the word “tunnel” in front of me. Ever” Zevran said.  
“Tell me there’s something to eat, I’m starving!” Oghren exclaimed, putting his luggage down as if nothing had happened.  
“And I’m dying of thirst”, says Wynne.   
“That’s what I like to hear! I like you mage. I have with me a Alley King’s Flagon that will get you back on your feet in no time.”  
“Maker’s sake, Oghren I was talking about water, not alcohol!”  
“Well, You’re wrong. Water is much less effective in recovering from a battle. Make you rust from the inside”. The dwarf answered, taking a wide sip and holding out the bottle.   
“Oh yes, and we have a dwarf now,” said Ymlaïs to Leliana.   
“Hey! A hidden beauty. You’re the cook? Do you also need a little … tonic. Uncle Oghren is always willing to do you a favor.”   
“Maker’s breath ! Leliana gasped giving at Ymlaïs an interrogative and disgusted look. The elf shrugged.   
“This is to stick to the quotas: I want to maintain a representative racial parity in the group”.   
“What!?”  
“Alright….. You must see him fight to understand. It seems hard to believe, I know, but he fights very well. Really well.”   
“Sure I do! The best warrior of Orzammar! At your service princess. Bring your darkspawns, I will make a nug pie out of it!” Said the dwarf, while filling himself with another sip of Alley’s King Flagon, before he landed heavily in front of the campfire.  
Passing by them Morrigan murmured : “If this dwarf is the stallion of his race as he pretends, I doubt the help of his people is worth the efforts it cost us. Oh, anyway, we are already picking up Chantry’s illuminated, failed Templars and living dead magi, so why not a drunken dwarf?”   
“You forget the babysitting of witches raised in the bottom of the swamps, Morrigan.” Replied coldly Ymlaïs. Then turning to Leliana. “He’s not a first-class fellow, I admit, but I’m looking for effective fighters, not sophisticated companions.”   
“If you say so…” replied Leliana with an air all but convinced.  
“We agree on that”, said Morrigan with contempt, “but that doesn’t explain Alistair’s presence who it neither of this”. 

Catching the magician by the arm, Ymlaïs murmured gritting her teeth: “It is one thing for you not to care what happens to others, Morrigan. But there’s a red line you should not cross. Anyway, if my choices do not suit you, you are free to go, I will stay with my fools and my drunkards, whether you like it or not.” 

Then she went to Alistair’s tent and opened it: empty.   
"Where is Alistair?" said she immediately with a worried look.  
“He … didn’t take the news very well when he woke up and he knew that you … that you had all gone to the Deeproads without us. He spends his days training in the woods over there.”  
Ymlaïs rushed in the direction indicated by the bard and then stopped, turned to the team and announced in a tone that she wanted carefree, "I’ll go see how he’s doing."  
Zevran had a burst of laughter, Morrigan raised her eyes to heaven, even Wynne could not hold back a smile.   
Leliana told the elf with a amused look: "Uh, Ymlaïs. You know… We all know about you two. Maybe you could stop pretending…”. 

Blushing from feet to ears, the Elf frozed in the middle of the camp.   
“All right....”. Then she ran away. 

"Well," said Zevran, "Do we taste this Alley’s King Flagon or not ?"

\----

Alistair was sweating, his arm was making him suffer from all the sword blows he was giving. The rope he had wrapped around the tree was shredded and held only by a few tenuous wires. He didn’t even really train anymore, he was just giving raging shots, but that was the only thing that kept him from going crazy from being stuck in the camp waiting forever. So he exorcised his frustration, worry and guilt with his sword.  
Then he saw something moving sideways, turned his head: she was there. Her armor still bore the traces of a recent fight, her bun was undone, her face was dirty, bloody and she looked exhausted, but there she was. 

They looked at each other, forbidden, and in a sigh said with one voice: «You’re alive».

She rushed into his arms and it was as if he was finally coming back to life. He pressed her so hard, plunged his face into her hair. To be able to feel her, touch her, how good it was. He kissed her forehead, her eyelid, her cheek, found her lips and their kiss was intense and deep. For Ymlaïs, it was like a dam that collapsed, a cascade of emotions that flowed and that swept everything: all the anguish contained for days, the unbearable absence, and all the horrors that she had seen in the Deeproads. This wave of love that broke through her with relief overwhelmed her. "I love you," she said to him between kisses, "I love you."   
She finally let the words come out, over and over again, those words that she had been forbidding herself for so long (1) and that she could no longer ignore. He was there, the man she had asked for to the stars(2). A human, yes. Her man, her friend, her love. For better or for worse, she had given in to fate. For better or for worse, she had just discovered her greatest strength…

And her greatest weakness. 

  
(1) : see chapter 16 : The Nightmare - https://archiveofourown.org/works/29352009/chapters/72098307   
(2) : see chapter 5 : Under the same sky - https://archiveofourown.org/works/26697238/chapters/65120938 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The reunion scene is a classic. But it still works on me ;-).


	7. Chapter 7

Sitting by the fire, Morrigan watched the young dalish sitting in front of her resting her head on the shoulder of that idiot Alistair. She was smiling again. She was like...transformed.   
How disgusting ! How could one let their happiness depend so much on a person? How could one chain oneself to someone in this way? And now they would display their idyll in the open, and she would have to endure the sight of this… mutual alienation all day long. Pathetic.

_Love is a weakness._

What an unbearable habit she had of attaching herself to all the morons she encountered along the way! This absurd mania to make an incomprehensible abstraction of the weaknesses of the other! To welcome everyone with open arms.   
Including her.

_No one will chain me, I’ll be the strongest._

The only person who never blamed her for who she is. The only person who really tried to understand her. The only person who never wanted to use her. 

_No. Love is weakness. Love is death._

Had she broken the bond between them? Why did she feel jealous? Why did she feel sad? 

_No one will chain me, I will be the strongest. Free and powerful._

_Free and powerful_.

\---

Ymlaïs had remained alone by the fire. Sleep was fleeing her tonight. Perhaps too many emotions. She was stroking Falon’s head, lying beside her. Morrigan came to sit on the other side. Ymlaïs remained of marble. For a long time they looked at the fire without a word.   
“I apologize.”   
The elf raised her head and looked at her neighbor with surprise.   
“What?”  
“You _heard_ what I said !” Morrigan got upset. “I… I shouldn’t have said what I said earlier," she continued, staring at the fire. "It was important to you."   
A long silence took place. Morrigan sighed and rose up, ready to go, cursing herself for having been so foolish as to stoop so low when she heard.

“Morrigan, thank you.”  
“Thank you? Why?”   
“For his life.”   
“I … you’re welcome.”

_Weakness. Vulnerability._

“Good night.”   
“Good night.”

_Well, shit._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I believe Alistair and Morrigan have a lot in common: a complicated and reclusive childhood, a damaged image of the family, a feeling of abandonment: but where Alistair is on an open quest to fill these gaps, Morrigan is rather in denial. Like a reversed mirror.  
> That’s what makes this relationship so interesting and touching to me.  
> And writting about Morrigan apologizing… it was too tempting ^^.


End file.
